


The Worm Inside Me

by lavatorylovemachine



Series: The God Series [3]
Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christianity, Dialogue Heavy, God - Freeform, M/M, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-10-05 04:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10297016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavatorylovemachine/pseuds/lavatorylovemachine
Summary: AU where Riario doesn't confess his murders to Lorenzo. Set after 3x07 - "Alis Volat Propriis".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow I'm years years late. I wrote about two chapters of this story right after the finale but real life got in the way and I couldn't post them until now. I hope the fandom still checks for Da Vinci fics once in a while, lol.
> 
> As you can probably imagine, I _hated_ how Riario's arc ended, so this is my fixfic :D. Actually, there are other things I also disliked about the final episodes of the show that thank God (and never better said) I get the chance to change here.
> 
> I've rated it M to be safe, but honestly this won't have explicit Leario sex. So if you're looking for that, go away. Lol.
> 
> Anyway, if you're still here, I hope you enjoy this first chapter.

It was the last day for Rome's entourage in Florence, and Count Riario together with Laura had decided to pay a visit to the city's Duomo, their biggest and most important cathedral. Laura had said she need to pray, while Girolamo had said nothing. He surely needed to get away from Pope Sixtus' inquisitive eyes.

And so he walked by the cathedral, this time more quietly and slowly than during the Pazzi's conspiracy. Girolamo – the part of him that he was fighting against - could still smell the blood in the air and the rotting bodies; he could see that Medici scum dead; he could hear the Florentines screaming... _No._

He looked at Laura, praying on her knees in the first row of the church. She didn't know... _poor Laura. She doesn't know that the Monster of Italy is still within me. I am in my faculties most of the time, but sometimes there are sparks, like explosions in my mind… and I want to kill._ It _wants to kill_.

Girolamo stood before a figure of Saint Paul, pondering while lightly touching the sword on his waist. Who had to die in order to appease the Monster? Was it Lorenzo? No, Lorenzo would be dealt with eventually. The man was digging his own grave, in bankrupt and with the sole Medici heir gone... No, it had to be someone else, Girolamo thought.

Then it hit him. He had to kill the man who made him what he now was: his father. _The one who never, ever, called me his son; not even in private_. Girolamo had already killed his own mother, after all.

He looked down. _No, too many people have died_. Silently, he prayed yet one more time, in the nearly vain hope that God would provide an answer. He prayed until he was sweating and shaking and there was no more strength within him. So he collapsed on the floor.

A moment later -he didn't know how long- his eyes opened wide. Everything was the same around him: the empty chapel, filled only by the sound of Laura's praying, the saints' figures... Girolamo was still in the cathedral, and God hadn't answered. He stood up, wiping the sweat from his face with one arm. He stretched his right arm towards the holy water pond below Saint Paul's figure, and before he touched the holy water he prayed: _Lord, give me the strength for what I don't want to do_.

Laura's heart froze when she heard the scream. One long, agonizing scream that undoubtedly came from his beloved Girolamo. She quickly stood up and ran towards where he was.

“Girolamo...” she called, keeling down. He had passed out on the floor, but there was sweat on him as if he had been in a big fight.

Laura tried to wake him up, but nothing worked. And what was even more confusing, he had no visible wound on his body.

She started crying, helplessly. And so that was it, she thought, _dead just when I was trying to save him_. She had been sure Count Riario was a good man, even with a past like his; he was a good man who was going to go back to God's path sooner than later. But now... _Is this God's “justice”?_

Suddenly, Girolamo coughed and shook his head, trying to wake up. Laura was holding his hand, tears of happiness flowing down her face. He finally opened his eyes.

“Where am I?” He asked; his voice hollow. “Am I dead?”

“Of course not, my dear. We're still in Florence. Why--”

“I can't see. Everything's… white.”


	2. Chapter 2

The death machine had fired, deafening and blinding Leo for a moment. The earth was shaking and tumbling, lifeless bodies flew and crashed in front of him, children cried for their mothers, but he stood motionless nonetheless. Suddenly, all sounds muted themselves, as if some mysterious forced had silenced them. What Leo heard instead were the voices of everyone he had loved and lost in that holy war. "Leo, Leo, Leo..." They were omniscient, and Leo couldn't understand them because they talked at the same time. They talked about forgiveness, love, pity. Even Sophia was there, with blood dripping from her neck...

Leonardo woke up, startled, his eyes filled with tears. The spring sun of Venice hit him straight in the eyes, so he had to cover them with his hand. As his body wobbled, he noticed he was on top of a horse.

“Sophia?” he called, the horses' hoofs hitting the ground.

“Another nightmare?” his sister asked from behind him.

"I'm afraid so..." 

“I'm sorry...” she mumbled.

Leo sighed. "I'll be better," he said succinctly. From time to time, his battle wounds still burned and stung.

“How far are we from Florence?” he asked again, knowing it was Zo’s turn to answer.

“Only a few hours, actually," Zo said.

“Where’s Nico?”

“He went to see Vanessa.”

“He did what?”

“I _told_ him it wasn’t a good idea, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Before closing his eyes, Leonardo caught the sight of someone reading under an old tree, but it was too far away for him to know who it was. Sighing again, he surrendered himself to the nightmares again, sure he was probably hallucinating.

 

 

The Republic of Florence was slowly recovering its initial briskness and joy. Under Lorenzo's encouragement, merchants and artisans had taken the streets again in an effort to keep the economy flowing. And with Rome and the Ottoman Empire off their backs, a feeling of normalcy seemed to sink in the citizens' hearts.

However, that was the opposite of what Leo found in the artists' workshop. The place was desolated, with only a few paintings and sculptures around and one man in a corner, Sandro Boticelli. He was tall, taller than Leo, with soft blond curls and pale blue eyes that contradicted his harsh manners. He was drawing over a canvas but turned around as soon as he sensed the trio's presence.

“Da Vinci,” he stated, hands in hips. “You haven't forgotten about us.”

Leo ignored Sandro's sardonic ton and asked him about the other artists.

“They sold out,” Boticelli answered codly. “Went to work for Sixtus in Rome.”

“What? Why?”

“Why are you so surprised? Sixtus has us by the throat. If we don't work for him, Florecence will pay. The old man's still bitter about us not having joined his crusade.”

While Zoroaster and Sophia stayed behind, Leo sat down in one of the white tables in front of his fellow artista and hang his head. The two had never gotten along well, and he really didn't want to bring up the fact that he was expecting money from Sixtus for defeating the Turks.

“So, you're the only one here?” Leo asked.

“Me and Masolino. We'd rather die than work for Rome. Besides, I'm still Lorenzo's favorite”.

And Leo knew why: Boticelli had done portraits of practically every member of the Medici family. Naturally, being him, he never missed a chance to brag about it.

Leo was quiet for a while, playing with a piece of clay; until he got up and said: “We have to go now... Sandro,” he climbed down from the table. “Thanks for staying here. I mean it”

Boticelli arched his eyebrows, incredulous. “My pleasure,” he said with a sardonic smile. “I'll see you around, I suppose?”

Leo nodded, smiling bittersweetly. “Andrea would have wanted that.”

 

 

“Remind me again,” Zo said to Leo while they walked towards the latter's home and workshop, “why do you and Boticelli hate each other's guts? Is it because you competed for Jacopo's love?”

“Zo...” Leo protested, but Zo was already laughing.

“So it's true, then?” Sophia said, turning her head sideways to look at Leo. “You _are_ a deviant.” She chuckled, amused.

“That's not a proper reaction from a nun,” Leo joked. “But to--”

“A nun?!” Zo interrupted. “A sodding _nun_?!”

“But to answer to your question: Yes, we're all deviants here in Florence. And if someone says they _aren't_ , they're probably lying.”

“That makes sense,” she said. “There were a lot of paintings of naked men in that workshop.”

Zo had his eyes wide open, so Sophia had to add. “Oh, I always hated the convent anyway.”

They had arrived at Leo's workshop. It looked exactly the same as when they had last left, something Leo himself was glad for. For once in their lifetime, Rome's pets hadn't touched anything.

“Wow,” Sophia said. “This place is incredible.”

Leo looked at her. She really was mesmerized. He smiled. “Well, it's a little messy right now... but thanks.”

“Leo,” Zo said, “When _isn't_ it a little messy around here?”

Leo ignored the comment and ran towards his rusty bed. “I'm going to take a nap, if you don't mind,” he yelled. “My bones are killing me.”

“A nap? What about us?” Zo demanded. “I was hoping we could go to the Barking Dog, at least.”

“The Barking Dog?” Leo said. Sophia watched the scene with curiosity in her eyes.

“Yes, tonight,” Zoroaster said. “Come on, just like the old days...”

“What is the Barking Dog?” Sophia asked.

“Florence’s most famous bar, of course,” Zo answered. “We used to go there all the time.”

The artista yawned. “I’m not in the mood, Zo,” he slurred.

“Fine. But I’m going. Sophia, do you want t—“

“You two?” Leo chuckled, glancing at both of them. “ _You_ are going to take care of my sister? No, Zo. I've known you long enough.”

“Leo, I will watch out for Sophia and I'll bring her home before midnight.” Then Zo made a bow. Sophia was laughing, while Leo grabbed his eyes in frustration.

“I really want to go to that...” Sophia said. “That... Barking Dog place.”

Leo sighed. “Okay. Fine. But I'm staying.”

Zoroaster walked towards the door. “Sleep tight, my friend,” he said, then he opened it and looked at Sophia. “Ladies first.”

 

 

Leo woke up after yet another nightmare. He got on his feet and looked outside: it was night time already. The full moon illuminated the streets of Florence, just like the old days.

The artista stretched himself and yawned. He had only one thought in his mind at the moment: sex. Not making love, not sympathy cuddling, sex. It was the only thing that could possibly take his mind off the dead, blood and destruction. And he knew just where to find it.

A few minutes later, he was walking confidently across the duskiest part of his beloved town, the one that led to the place where you could satisfied one’s most twisted of desires. Since he was a regular there, the poor creature that guarded it let him in without asking further questions.

 _Some things never change_ , Leo thought in satisfaction as he strolled around the brothel. The same clients, the same workers. All familiar faces. He kept on walking, undecided as to which service to acquire.

“Made up your mind yet?” a female voice called from behind some curtains. Leo looked at her and kept on walking.

And then, at the corner of that narrow passage, he spotted him: a young, slim, attractive man drinking what Leo guessed was wine. He was standing against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

“Jacopo,” Leo greeted inadvertently.

Jacopo smirked and looked at Leo. “Leonardo,” he spoke rather deeply.

Leo was taken aback. No one at Florence called him by his full name, and Jacopo wasn't the owner of that voice. The Jacopo he knew, at least.

“Are you going to stare at me the whole night? I have other clients to meet, you know.”

Leo had fought the Turks, the Labyrinth, the Pope himself; but it was in that moment that he felt truly screwed. He didn't know what to say. The sight of Jacopo naked had brought lots of memories. Very, very happy memories.

Jacopo laughed. “I see you haven't forgotten about me. It's been ages.”

“I'm sorry... Jacopo.”

“What for?” He chuckled. “I'm the one who nearly got you executed.”

There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, followed by Leo swooping into Jacopo's naked body. He grabbed him by the neck and kissed him with the force that seemed to have been trapped inside the artista all that time. The other man let him in happily, moaning each time Leo bit on his lips.

Sometime later the two were laying naked on the floor, side by side. Leo had an arm around Jacopo and was tracing fingers over his neck and hair. The artista's eyelids flutter as he smiled in joy. He had _almost_ forgotten what good sex felt like.

“Stop what you're doing,” Jacopo said.

“What am I doing?”

“Touching me like that. Sandro is going to be really upset.”

“WHAT,” Leo froze dead and stopped the playing of his fingers.

“Boticelli. I'm with him now.”

Leo jerked up, leaving Jacopo's skin for good. “No... you're not,” he retorted.

Jacopo laughed, with an expression Leo had never seen on him before. “Jealous, are we?”

“I'm not jealous,” Leo said quickly. “Does he know you work here?”

“Of course he does. But it's hard to make a living these days in Florence. You should know that, Leonardo.”

Leo sighed. “Of course.”

He began feeling even more depressed than when he had stepped into the brothel. In the first place, he had arrived there looking for sex and ended up almost _cuddling_ with Jacopo Saltarelli, longingly touching his neck and hair. He wouldn't admit it, but deep inside Leo was the one begging for a goodbye kiss now.

Jacopo watched in silence as Leo got dressed. When he was finished, he spoke again:

“Payment has gone up to fifteen florins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd never given much thought to where Leo slept in the series, so I made that home/workshop mash-up. Maybe it was/wasn't that way in the series, but it would take me eons to check it out and I don't think it's that important to this story anyway.
> 
> Kudos, compliments, complaints and criticism below. ↓↓↓


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry it took me so long to update this story, but at least I did it before the year ended, right? lol.
> 
> So anyway, I've been busy with my original stories. You can read them here under the pseud pinkbubblesgo or at Wattpad (same nickname).

Leo opened his workshop’s door wishing he were drunk. That way he wouldn’t have to explain anything to his sister. He walked inside, looked around for Sophia but couldn’t find her. Instead, in a corner illuminated by sunlight, sat a man with long hair and cream-colored robes reading a bible.

“Riario?” Leo called.

Girolamo looked up from his book and smiled. “Leonardo. Good morning.”

Leo tried to look for traces of the Monster of Italy in the eyes before him but found none. He even found kindness, something he never thought he’d see in Count Riario. Nevertheless…

“What are you doing here?” he frowned. “And where’s Sophia?”

“She went to buy food. Your sister’s very kind, Leonardo. She let me stay here knowing my situation.”

“Your situation?”

“Sixtus is looking for me. He wants me dead.”

“And Laura?”

“She died protecting me, while we were in Rome.”

Leonardo stared into Girolamo’s eyes again. There were bags under them and the rest of skin around them was slightly paler.

“Did something happened? Your eyes—“

“God struck me blind a week ago. Then He gave me back my sight and told me what to do.”

Leonardo sighed as he sat on a chair, before one of his work tables. _Not another one of those God stories_ , he thought. Even in Florence, where they were less common, he still hadn’t learned to tolerate them.

“It was probably an illness,” he said to Girolamo.

“You and your rational mind,” Riario smiled in a way Leonardo wasn’t used to. It was a genuinely gentle smile. “Do you believe in impossible things, Leonardo?”

The artista opened his mouth to say 'no' but stopped himself. He sighed again and looked down.

“I saw my mother just before she was killed. I spoke to her, even though she was miles away from me.”

Girolamo smiled again. “That’s the power of those who love us. And that power comes from God.”

Leonardo didn’t say anything. He thought of the device he had built with the help of the Book of Leaves, of how it seemed precisely that: Impossible. He suddenly remembered his sister was still there, and it made him uncomfortable, for reasons he didn’t know.

“Have you killed again?” Leonardo asked Riario.

“No. The monster has left me, Leonardo. This time for good.”

Leo gazed into Girolamo’s eyes and was glad to find it again: the humanity. He knew he wasn’t lying. It was rather curious, he thought, how well they knew each other; their facial expressions, their thoughts, their manner of speaking, and they were neither lovers nor friends. _What are we, exactly?_

He sat in front of him after grasping an olive from the table and eating it.

“I thought Lucrezia would be with you,” Riario muttered.

“She’s—she’s dead. Killed by the Otomans.”

“I’m sorry. You were quite in love with her, weren’t you?”

Leonardo nodded distractedly as he thought about Riario’s statement. It was true, he did love Lucrezia, but he wasn’t the only one in his thoughts; returning to Florence had made him realize it. He went to Jacopo looking for forgiveness and, until Sandro came into the picture, love; and now Girolamo was there and it was all so… different.

“Tell me again about this blindness,” Leo finally said.

“I was at the cathedral with Laura. We were both praying. Then God struck me blind and she helped me escape the city. We hid in an abandoned house… She took care of me the whole three days of my blindness.”

“Three days? Like Saint Paul?”

“Effectively,” Girolamo smiled, ever so slightly. “I’m surprised you’re familiar with the scriptures.”

“Yes, I—“ Leonardo mumbled, angry at his sudden awkwardness. “I read it when I’m bored.”

Riario chuckled in a way Leo had never heard him before. It was a genuine, well-intended laugh.

“Then what happened?”

“Sixtus’ army found the house. Laura hid me and told them I wasn’t there and they… they killed her. I ran away and reached Florence again.”

“And none of them found you?”

Girolamo shook his head.

“What are your plans here?” Leonardo asked.

“To spread the word of God. That is now my only purpose.”

“Won’t Sixtus find you eventually?”

“If I have to die, then so be it. But I won’t hurt anyone else.”

There was a knock on the door.

“LEO!” Leonardo could have been sure everybody in Florence had heard Zo’s voice. “Open the door!”

The artist didn’t really want to, but he stood up and turned on his feet _. Alright, what’s the worse that could happen? Zo steps inside and screams that the Monster of Italy is here, or..._

“Leo!”

“Coming!”

_... Or he makes some joke about me and Riario together... Please, Zo, don’t do that, for the love of--_

“Hi, Zo.”

“Why are you blocking me? Who’s inside?”

“Zo, listen,” Leonardo pulled Zoroaster, who was on tip-toes, down again. “I’ll let you in, but promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Why, who’s in there?”

“Promise you won’t scream or shout-"

“Alright, I promise! Just let me in.”

Leonardo opened the door fully and closed it as soon as Zo stepped inside.

“Blimey!” Zo’s eyes went wide. He took a few steps to take a closer look at Girolamo, who had put his Bible down and looked back at Zo without hostility. “What happened to you?”

“I’m healed. God healed me.”

Zoroaster made a noise between a snort and a giggle. He turned to look at his friend, who was drawing over a table. “Surely you don’t believe this, Leo?”

“It’s true, I’ve checked,” Leo said distractedly.

Zo put both hands on his hips and glanced from Girolamo to Leo. “Great,” he said. “This is just… great.”

There was a knock on the door again.

“It’s Sophia!”

Leo went to open the door. His sister had brought bread and fruit in a basket.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she said and stepped in.

“A little, I guess…” he said as he closed the door.

“Hi, Zo.”

“Sophia...”

There was a twinkle in their eyes that wasn’t quite right, according to Leonardo, but he quickly got it off his mind and watched her sister bent over to give Riario an apple.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it, and smiled at her.

Even though he looked very hungry, he was eating the apple gracefully, seemingly preserving his royal manners. Meanwhile, Zoroaster asked Leo if Riario would stay at the workshop.

“It’s alright with me,” Leo said, flipping the paper where his sketch of Girolamo was.

“Thank you, Leonardo.”

“I’m glad to have you here too,” Sophia added.

Zo left, saying he needed to ask around for Nio’s whereabouts.

 

 

It was late in the evening when the bells of Florence’s cathedral rang with a depth that seemed to announce something terrible. This was confirmed when everyone at the Da Vinci workshop heard Lorenzo screaming his nephew’s name and Vanessa’s. The guards knocked and opened every door in the street except for Leonardo’s.

“Find them!” Lorenzo screamed again. “Find them, whatever it takes!”


End file.
